My mother was medicated and essentially knocked out when I was born, so only Dad got to see me initially. When she asked him if I was a “beautiful baby” (her first–hoping for a daughter), he replied (so I’m told), “He is healthy and fine.” When pressed about my post-birth looks, he replied–per Diogenes, “No, he is not a beautiful baby, but he is healthy, and he is ours.” Apparently those truisms has remained intact for over 5 decades now…

Apropos Steve, I was a forceps delivery, a real mess, and drs in Detroit, decided for the sake of humanity, I would be hidden for the proverbial three days. When I finally was healthy to have my ‘outing’ at the window, shoulder cast, misshapen purple head, two woman standing next to my dad, asked one another in Polish, ‘my god what an ugly child, I wonder who he belongs to ” . My father, who spoke Polish, replied he’s mine… end of story.